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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302992">Leaving Once More</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lake_King/pseuds/The_Lake_King'>The_Lake_King</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>2021 Valentine's Prompts [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, Moving In Together, Panic Attacks, Paranoia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:40:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lake_King/pseuds/The_Lake_King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 9. "It's very sweet that you made dinner, but I'm not sure this is edible." </p>
<p>A sequel to 'Like Ordinary Men.' Thomas has never left Downton under good circumstances. Richard does his best.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>2021 Valentine's Prompts [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Well I love you: Valentines for Thomas Barrow</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Leaving Once More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This got away from me, man. I need to change my name to Angst King.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas wiggled deeper into the embrace of his coat and peered out the train window. It hurt to say goodbye to Mrs. Hughes, to Phyllis, to the place he had called home for almost his entire adult life. It reminded him of another train, another self, a body not yet marred by violence. Of a car and a cold, empty house that he had resigned himself to dying in. Seeing everything he owned packed neatly into two suitcases made it real. How little he had. How much of a risk he was taking. He nearly wept when he said goodbye to the children. George especially. He knew the look in those big blue eyes. There was an unmistakable internal shift that said ‘a part of my life is over now.’</p>
<p>
  <em>But when I became a man, I put away childish things.</em>
</p>
<p>He shivered. <em>He’s not you; he has other people. And you’re not dead and gone forever.</em> It didn’t matter. Things were never going to be the same. And what if things with Richard didn’t work out in the end? He would be stuck, jobless and friendless and right back where he started. It was no different than trusting Phillip, in a way. He was placing himself at the mercy of someone who had all the power and the means. Richard had <em>said</em> that Thomas would be on all the documents, as a business partner, but it hadn’t happened yet. And would he ever have the courage to bring it up when things were good? Or would he just roll over and let Richard take his fill until he grew tired of him? Perhaps he had broken a little boy’s heart for no bloody good reason at all, which was so incredibly typical.</p>
<p>Richard did not come to pick him up. It hurt, even though that had always been the plan. Richard said he had to take care of something, and would see him at home. At home. The word choice had left Thomas practically dancing a jig at the time. Now, his stomach roiled as he hailed a cab all alone, clutching his meagre belongings. The driver asked if he was going to a funeral.</p>
<p>The door to the flat stared him down as he rang the bell again. He felt wrong, standing there on the pavement. Like a tooth out of line, a bent nail in a slat. People were staring. He couldn’t feel his hands properly.</p>
<p>“Coming!” Richard sounded harassed. He looked harassed too, blocking the whole doorway clad only in his shirtsleeves. He was sweating.</p>
<p>Thomas wanted to say something light, but a bit pointed, like ‘Forgot I was coming, did you?’ or ‘Life away from service seems to be suiting you fine, Mr. Ellis.’ Instead he just stood there with his teeth clamped shut while Richard gave him that horrible chagrined look. He swallowed. “Hello.” It sounded wrong.</p>
<p>“Hello,” said Richard. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>There was something accusatory in the tone. Everyone was staring at him. And who could blame them? He would stare at some old lavender standing on the street who couldn’t breathe and must be having some kind of allergic reaction to his own sweat if such a thing was possible—</p>
<p>“Thomas? Look at me, love.”</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to ask Richard if he was mad, calling him that in the street, only to realize that they weren’t in the street. The carpet in the stairwell was green. Someone was crushing his chest. He tried to suck in air, to force it to expand further against its will, but he wasn’t strong enough.</p>
<p>“Easy, easy…Let’s have a sit down, yeah? Let’s have a sit—”</p>
<p>The harsh jut of the stair connected with his back. It hurt far more than it should have. Broad, warm hands descended upon him, loosening his collar and rubbing up and down his arms. The tightness in his chest eased ever so slightly as Richard drew him into his embrace. He was solid and warm, full of sweet words that washed over Thomas, coming in and out like a bad wireless. They breathed together until he could feel his fingertips again.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he half-coughed into Richard’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Shh. None of that. Do you think you can stand?”</p>
<p>He could. He did. Richard batted away his hands when he reached for his luggage.</p>
<p>“Leave ’em. I’ll come back for ’em later.”</p>
<p>“No!” Thomas was almost as surprised as Richard at his own volume. He tried to lift the cases, but his fingers wouldn’t close all the way and his arms were useless and panic clawed at him, even as Richard ran soothing hands over his back. “’S all I have,” he whispered miserably. The carpet blurred. His coat was gone and he wanted it back. It was far, far too cold.</p>
<p>“Okay. If you can get yourself upstairs, I’ll be right behind with ’em. Can we do that?”</p>
<p>Thomas nodded. His feet felt distant as he climbed, like they had had a tiff with his brain and weren’t on speaking terms. Richard herded him into the kitchen and sat him down while he bustled about making tea. He had repainted the walls. They were pale blue now, like a starling’s egg. It was the colour Thomas had suggested.</p>
<p>Sweet tea was for shock. Thomas had brought so many other people cups of sweet tea. He couldn’t ever remember receiving one. He warmed his hands on his cup, staring into the woodgrain of the table while Richard rubbed circles on his back.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me what happened?” Richard asked softly. “It’s alright, if not.”</p>
<p>“Nothin’ happened, as such,” he murmured, running his thumb along the porcelain and feeling like an idiot.</p>
<p>“Was it the war?” He was so tentative, as if Thomas might go off like a bomb. It was awful.</p>
<p>“No. I can ’andle that.” Richard winced with his entire body. Thomas gestured vaguely at his suitcases. “That’s me life. I walked in twenty-two years ago and that’s me whole life.”</p>
<p>Richard was quiet for a long moment. “Y’know,” he said finally, “I left the Palace with a valise and a hat box. I felt a bit mad, really. But when I went home—”</p>
<p>“Because you <em>have</em> a home! Downton was as close as I ever got!” Thomas spat. Richard jerked his hands away from him as if he’d been burned. All the anger and resentment fled from his chest as quickly as it had entered, leaving him gasping and empty again. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Richard, God…”</p>
<p>“I’ve asked too much, haven’t I?” Thomas was taken aback by how miserable he sounded. He looked up to see tears in his soft green eyes. “It was foolish of me to think that if I just got the right mantel clock everythin’ would be perfect.” He tried to smile in that self-deprecating way he sometimes did, but it came out all bent around the edges.</p>
<p>“I’d like a clock,” Thomas tried gently, but Richard’s face only crumpled all the more. Thomas saw painted there all his own insecurities, the well-known fear that everything he had carefully built up would be ripped apart. He saw a man who wanted so badly to get it right, who had offered up his whole life on a platter for inspection and been found wanting. Thomas stood and straddled Richard’s lap, wrapping the blanket around both of them as he sank into his arms. “Don’t cry, darlin’,” he whispered into his hair. “I’m so sorry. I’m just an old nutter, and I never meant to make you cry. You haven’t asked too much, I’m just…scared.”</p>
<p>“You’re not a nutter,” said Richard, muffled by his partner’s collar.</p>
<p>“Just old, eh? Alright, I see how it is.”</p>
<p>It got a weak laugh, so that was something. “What are you scared of?” his lover asked at length.</p>
<p>“God, everything.” Thomas petted his hair. “Gettin’ caught. The business not workin’ out. That you’ll…” Richard squeezed him, as if to say ‘I’m listening.’ “That you’ll get tired of me and I’ll have nowhere to go.” It came out in a rush.</p>
<p>“I could never get tired of you,” Richard insisted, pulling him impossibly closer. “And if it doesn’t work out—ever, for any reason—then I hope you don’t think so little of me that I would throw you out on the street or try to ruin your life.”</p>
<p>“I don’t. Think that, I mean. Not really.” Thomas knew that much was true. He had somehow found a good man. “It weren’t logical. Just…I’ve never left under good circumstances. It’s like my body decided I were goin’ to France or summat. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Never apologize for that. How about this: I’ll never leave you alone to move, and you catch the things I drop every time a bloody car backfires, eh?”</p>
<p>He nodded and snuggled into Richard’s shoulder, breathing his scent as they swayed back and forth slightly, unsure who had started it. Richard always smelt clean, like soap flakes and polish and sprigs of lavender, all layered over top of something undefinable but undeniably masculine. Although—</p>
<p>“What is that smell?” How he had so far managed to miss the acrid stench was a mystery.</p>
<p>“Um…”</p>
<p>Thomas noticed for the first time what a disaster the kitchen was. “Richard?”</p>
<p>“I thought it were the neighbour again, when you rang the bell, yeah? ’Cause y’see,” his accent got progressively thicker, “she rang the bell and I thought I had enough time di’n I, but she talked me ear off—”</p>
<p>Thomas burst out laughing. It felt like splashing his face with cool water. He stood on wobbly legs and peeked into the covered pot. He was fairly certain that the…thing that could be generously described as meat…had been a bit dubious even before it was burnt. </p>
<p>“It's very sweet that you made dinner,” he said, aiming for diplomacy and failing, “but I'm not sure this is edible.”</p>
<p>“You don’t bloody say.” Richard shook his head and sighed. “’M not doin’ today right at all, am I?” The smile almost reached his eyes, that time.</p>
<p>“An auspicious start we’re makin’ all around, Mr. Ellis.” He looped his arms about Richard’s shoulders and started up their sway again, half-dancing to imaginary music. “I love you,” he said softly. “Even though you can’t cook.”</p>
<p>“I love you too.” He pulled Thomas in and kissed the shell of his ear in that careful way of his. “I hope sandwiches are alright.”</p>
<p>“I’ll survive it, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>Sandwiches helped untwist his gut. The cake (a gift from Richard’s sister, thank God) helped more. By the time Richard curled around him with a murmured “Goodnight, love,” he was almost alright. His sleepy lover pulled him back into bed when he rose automatically to leave before dawn, and when he woke again, it was to bright sunlight piercing the curtains.</p>
<p>Richard could, as it turned out, cook eggs.</p>
<p>“I had to redeem meself,” he insisted, to Thomas’ amusement. “How are you feelin'?”</p>
<p>“Better,” he murmured around a mouthful of toast, feeling sheepish. “Knackered, but better.”</p>
<p>Richard draped himself over the back of Thomas’ chair. “We don’t have to be at the bank ’til three, so you can relax for a while, eh? Thought we might make use of the monster bath.”</p>
<p>Thomas huffed a laugh and leaned into him, wrapping himself around one of his lover's arms like a vine. “I like the sound of that. What are we doin’ at the bank?”</p>
<p>“Adding your name to the accounts.” Richard looked down at him for a long moment, the gears working in his head. “You thought I’d put it off somehow, didn’t you.”</p>
<p>Thomas winced. “Please don’t take it personally.”</p>
<p>“I won’t, because I'm not your duke, or your footman, or whoever the hell planted that thought in your head,” he said, giving him a squeeze. “I’m just goin’ to run <em>us</em> a bath in <em>our </em>bathroom." Richard kissed the delicate skin behind his ear. "This afternoon," he went on, softly, "we're gonna go to the bank to sort out <em>our </em>money and <em>our </em>shop. And tonight, we'll go out and have a decent bloody meal, so we don’t have to cook or clean up, an' we can just fall into <em>our</em> bed. Does that sound good to you?”</p>
<p>Thomas nodded, but didn’t let go.</p>
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